


Justice League: Dark Nights

by JLASuperFlash



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Supergirl (TV 2015), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 15:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30107955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JLASuperFlash/pseuds/JLASuperFlash
Summary: Six of earths most formidable heroes come together to form a superhero team meant to stop any and all otherworldly threats. When Batman goes missing, it becomes all about the search for their missing friend.But what they find is more than they ever bargained for.Arrowverse characters, but also with old JL cartoon feels.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Iris West, Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Justice League: Dark Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! First of all, thanks for even bothering to click on this story! Even if you don’t plan on reading, I appreciate your view!  
> This is my first official story on here and its a little nerve wracking to finally be posting the first chapter.  
> Regardless, I’m REALLY excited to start this one up. The League forming at the end of Crisis was one of my favorite moments in the entire Arrowverse, so I really wanted to write some League stuff within this universe.  
> This will be based on Arrowverse characters and will have a lot of canon Arrowverse stuff. A few things will be changed, both major and minor though.  
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoy chapter 1!!!

**Kalanor**  
**7 Earth Years Ago**

Lightning struck down on the warm, sandy earth, shattering bits and pieces of dirt and rock.

No one was around to care, there wasn’t much to see on this planet, so not many lived there. The hot, dreary climate and lack of plant life ensured that anyone who still lived here, did not stray too far from their cities.

Nobody, with the exception of one man.

He’d been driven from his home, his city, by people who thought his very existence was unnatural.

Even in a world of finned aliens, his third eye was considered a bad omen. He was considered bad luck and a menace to their society.

Like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off and bring destruction to their thriving city.

While the government hadn’t forced him out, the young men and women that set fire to his house or threw rocks at him as he passed by them on the way to the store, did that well enough.

He thought of his usual tormenter, Jasonar. Since they were children, Jasonar had verbally and physically beat him.

Beat the third eye until he was purple and couldn’t open for days.

His parents, poor peasants that could afford little and had no power, could merely put ice on it and tell him to stay clear of Jasonar.

Not easy when he and the bully remained in the same class until they reached adulthood.

His mind ran through scenarios where he could get revenge on Jasonar for all he’d been him through.

It was one of the thoughts that kept him going.

“Nuclear energy. Flame of Py’tar. Jasonar. Saranna. Kill.” He mumbled, huddled underneath a large, carved in rock as the lightning storm raged mere feet away from him.

He was wrapped in the only item he was able to bring with him, his coat. After they’d lit his house on fire, they’d chased him with weapons, sharp ones. Chased him until he had no choice but to run as far away as he could.

For the first day, he ambled around. Sleeping underneath any bit of shade he could find during the day, and traveling at night.

There wasn’t much cover and he had no idea if they were still hunting him, so traveling at night was the best way for him to stay alive.

The second day, he found a nearly dried out lake, licking and slurping as much as he could until his tongue swept up dirt.

And then he kept going. He had no idea how many days he’d been out here now, or how far away he even was from the city.

He could be going in circles for all he knew.

He’d been huddled under the rock for at least an hour, mumbling to himself, his mind running a mile a minute and trying to decide what to do next.

He was stranded. Sure to die in the next day or two if he didn’t get any water. Having not eaten for days, and nowhere to go.

The next city was probably hundreds of miles away. He was dead, for sure.

“Why?” He moaned, curling up in a ball on his side and holding his head. “What did I do to deserve this? Please, gods, strike me down. Let me suffer no longer.” He pleaded, desperate tears leaking out of out of his two primary eyes.

He laid there and cried, ready for the sweet release of death. Angry and desperate and sad.

He laid there for hours, curled around himself with the feeling death creeping up on him.

The third eye blinked suddenly, as if with a mind of its own, and gazed at something along the horizon, while the man continued to weep.

No, not something. Someone.

As if the eye had sent a signal and alerted him, the man looked up, head shaky and weak. He squinted with all three eyes, trying to make out what the figure was.

And then the figure clarified. A person? Out here in the storm right now?

Were they looked for him or were they merely a traveler, making the trek from city to city looking for trade or a new place to call home.

Something in him told him they weren’t looking for him.

It was a sign. A sign from the gods themselves, a gift, if you will.

Pushing up on shaky arms, he let the jacket fall to the wayside and stumbled out into the clearing.

It was nearing dusk, and most of the light came from the lightning in the sky above them.

Lightning struck the ground right next to him and he barely flinched. If he died, he died. He had nothing to lose at this point.

The straggler stop their land-speeder, gazing right at him.

And then the man with the third eye collapsed, keeping the third eye open to see how the straggler would react.

Sure enough, they hopped off their land-speeder and rushed towards him.

He almost felt bad. Almost.

But he’d nearly been killed multiple times in the last week. He had to survive.

Gripping the jagged rock in his hand and feeling a surge of anger release inside him, he waited until the straggler was close.

The moment he felt a gentle hand on his arm, he struck, twisting around and jabbing the rock directly into the stragglers jugular.

He watched, as the straggler’s eyes widened in pure shock and began making choking sounds.

The man with the third eye twisted the rock, making sure to get deep and watching with a scary satisfaction as blood squirted and dripped all over both of them.

He waited until the straggler let out a strangled cry and collapsed, having choked on his own blood.

Finally able to get a good glance at his face, he noticed how young he was. Probably had just finished schooling.

He should know better than to approach anyone out here alone, he reasoned.

A newfound energy running through him after the kill, the man searched the dead bodies’ pockets, finding a house key.

He picked up the drop sword as well, testing the weight in his hand.

Then he looked towards the speeder-bike, which looked like it had a cantina clipped to the side.

He rushed towards it and picked up the cantina, taking a long, desperate sip.

The lukewarm liquid felt like heaven as it traveled down his throat and left a cool sensation in his belly, reinvigorating his body.

And then he glanced once more at the dead body and mounted the bike.

Jasonar would pay. They all would. They’d all pay for treating him like an outcast. For beating him and mocking him and refusing to believe he could be a useful part of society.

He thrust the handlebars forward, shooting him off into the darkening night.

The wind whipped past his face and he felt the blood slowly dry on his hands.

He was sure he looked a mess. Bloody, dirty, furiously insane looking.

He had an idea. It was a stupid one, and potentially a dangerous one, but he couldn’t do this on his own.

There was only one group of people that could help him now.

So he drove for a few hours across the sand, finally reaching the outskirts of the city that used to be his home.

He looked at it with disdain.

On the outside, it looked beautiful. But on the inside, he knew it was full of corruption and hatred and bigotry.

He’d never travelled this way, but he knew they had an exit out of the city. It was risky to try and go in his exit, but he had no other choice.

So he parked the bike outside the walls of the city, a few feet from where he knew the secret exit was.

He’d heard rumors, whispers from people in the streets or drunken patrons in bars.

The red bricks of the wall were dirty and all identical, so he had to knock on a few and tug on several more before one came loose.

And then the others around that one came out just as easy until there was a whole in the wall, one just big enough for large man to fit through.

He was a small man though, so he had no problem squeezing through.

Once on the inside, he continued down a dark tunnel, slipping and sliding down a few slopes.

Until finally, he reached a ladder, and above it, a trapdoor.

There was light shining through the cracks on the trapdoor, and he shakily climbed the ladder until he reached the door.

Bracing himself, he knocked.

And knocked again and again until he heard footsteps. He dropped down quickly at the noise, not sure if whoever was on the other side would strike first and ask questions later.

He was on his ass in the dirt, looking up as the trapdoor opened and he was met with the hardened face of a burly looking man.

“Who are you? How did you get here?” He asked gruffly, gun pointed unwaveringly at the man below.

Finding his voice, the man spoke, raspy after days of it going unused. “I need to request the help of The Resistance. Please, I’m desperate and I have no where else to go. No one to turn to.”

The man’s eyes softened slightly but his gun remained trained on him. “Who are you?”

“My name is Despero.”

At the reveal of his name, the burly man above raised his eyebrows in shock. “The delinquent with the third eye? The one who was run out of town four days and five nights ago?”

The man below, Despero, nodded. Anger bubbled at the surface at the way the man spoke of him.

But he could hardly blame him. That’s how the townspeople always spoke of him. And the resistance, who lived underground and in the shadows, they barely had contact with the world above them.

They only knew what their messengers and spies brought back with them.

“Why are you here?” The man asked again.

Despero stood up, “I’m here to take this city back from our oppressors. From the people that drove me from town.”

The man looked at him warily, but then he blinked a few times and nodded. “Come. I’ll bring you to our leader and we can see what he thinks of your plan.”

He moved over and Despero took that as his cue to start climbing the ladder.

The man helped heave him up and he dusted off his dirty clothes, following silently.

The Resistance base was as dirty and dark as he expected. They were underground afterall. With bits of tech and trash littered about what could be considered “streets.”

They’d forged and built some semblance of a city down here, with mud caked windows and doors that were really only frames. No sense of privacy and no real protection.

People watched them as they passed, nervous around a newcomer, even more so when that newcomer had a third eye that was blinking rapidly at them.

Then they reached a room towards what Despero guesses was the middle of the city.

It was by far the most open and well lit. And there were frames for doors that led to several different rooms. The one straight ahead looked to be the biggest and inside he could see a man sitting at a beat up and dirty desk that was most likely taken from the trash site of the main city.

Inside the other rooms, he could guns. Swords. All manner of weapons, primed and ready to be used as soon as the moment called for it.

Despero couldn’t help the hope that sprung up in his chest. Maybe this would work.

The resistance was usually spoke of as if they had nothing and were mere peasants that had a certain disregard for the rules.

He could see that wasn’t true now.

“Gremnir.” The burly guard spoke, popping his head through the doorway. “We have an unexpected guest. Found him inside the back entrance. He wants to speak to you.”

‘Gremnir’ looked from his guard to Despero, eyebrow raised.

He was about to open his mouth to say something when he spotted Despero’s third eye and paused.

Now, he looked a little more intrigued. “Thank you, Fuhors. Now leave us and go back to your post.”

The man had a higher pitched voice, not as stern as Despero had expected from the resistance leader.

“Sit.” He gestured towards the rickety chair on the other side of his desk.

Despero nodded, sitting carefully as to not break the damned thing.

“So, what is my guard talking about? What do you wish to speak about?”

Despero gripped the sides of the chair. “As I’m sure you are aware by now, I was the one driven out of town days ago. Flushed out of my home by the very people that have tormented me since I was a child. I wish to have revenge.”

Gremnir, he clearly was not expecting Despero to lay out his inquires so quickly, reacted so drastically that his eyebrows shot up comically.

“And what makes you think I’m going to help you?” He asked.

“You mean what’s in it for you?” Despero clarified. “Aside from getting out of this hellhole, I will ensure that you become the new general. Leader of this great city’s armies.”

Gremnir folded his hands in front of him on the desk. “So you what? Want me and the other resistance fighters to go up there and attack them? We don’t have the numbers. We may have plenty of weapons, but our numbers are small.”

“No. That’s not my plan. I will tell you, but first I need to know you’re on board.” Despero crossed his arms.

“And why should I trust you?” Gremnir asked.

Despero cracked his knuckles, his poor aching muscles and tendons screaming at him. “Because for days I have thought of nothing but revenge. I was near death when the gods granted me a chance at survival. I took that chance. And somehow, I’ve made it here. Back to the city that has forsaken me. For too long I’ve been treated like a worthless earth maggot. Disgusting? Untouchable. That ends tonight.”

Gremnir watched the emotions cross Despero’s face. Anger, hurt, determination. Resolve.

“Okay. Say we form an alliance. What will you require of me if not my army?”

Despero smiled. “A few weapons, maybe. A couple men. And we’ll need one of your spies to bring us some royal clothing.”

“Your plan is to infiltrate the capital?” Gremnir guessed.

“No. Not the capital. The Flame.” Despero smiled.

Now Gremnir looked shocked. “The Flame of Py’tar? The cities’ power source? But why?”

“I am going to jump into it.”

At that, Gremnir jumped up from his chair. “You can’t! The flame will kill you instantly. That, or it will take away anything and everything you love. It’ll take your entire soul.”

“In exchange for ultimate power. Besides, I have nothing, no one to lose. I fight for myself. Only the most desperate and worthless of men can jump in that flame and survive. That man is me, I know it.” Despero touched his third eye. This was purpose, he knew it.

The Flame didn’t accept just any soul as it’s vessel. Only the right one. Many had died trying, all of them believing they were the one to control the flame.

“And if you die in the pit?” Gremnir questioner, still a little weary.

“Then you only lose a couple men. But if I don’t, there is no stopping us from taking this city and ruling under our own ideals. Choosing who prospers. This is our time, I know this now. The gods have spoken to me.” Despero said resolutely, absolutely sure in what his destiny was now.

Why else would the gods send him a man with a means of transport and a weapon and water? When he was mere inches from deaths’ grasp. There were no coincidences like that in life.

“And if you succeed, I will be general and you will be what exactly?” Gremnir asked.

“Their god.” Despero smiled, feeling like things were finally working in his favor.

**Author's Note:**

> In the words of one HR Wells: until next communion!


End file.
